


designated drivers anonymous

by kalakauuas



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: M/M, Parties, hiding in bathrooms, lance's constant overly romantic inner dialogue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-02 08:49:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17261198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalakauuas/pseuds/kalakauuas
Summary: "It’s halfway through his sixth attempt at a puppy-filter pic that the bathroom door whooshes open wider than Lance’s mouth trying to prompt the puppy tongue onto the screen. Right when Lance screeches in surprised terror, he takes the picture.“I’m so sorry! I didn’t know it was occupied,” says the person who threw the door open, his hands rushing to cover his eyes quicker than Lance would run from his mom’s chancla.The good thing is, aside from vaguely humiliating selfie poses, there’s nothing to see here."Lance and Shiro meet through a shared hobby, if you consider hiding in bathrooms during house parties a hobby.





	designated drivers anonymous

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Muzuki_chan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muzuki_chan/gifts).



> NUTS!!!!!!! nuts ily and im sorry that an ugly ass bitch like me was late with your secret santa gift T-T please, accept this humble gift drenched in papa sauce

Who even—what the hell? This is gross. This is so gross. Lance is so mad right now—angry, even—at what’s happening. 

All he wanted was a break, from the absolutely ridiculous, loud, awful party he’s at against his will. This is the last time he trusts his cousin to take him anywhere that’s supposedly “fun” and he means it when he says it this time. This is not like the three other “last times” before this. Lance refuses to go anywhere with him anymore, as long as it means he will no longer have to encounter random bathrooms at random houses with toilets absolutely covered in pee. 

It is so gross. Do people not understand what it means to put the seat up, to wipe it down after if your aim sucks? Is nothing sacred? 

He wants to scream, because this is the final straw that broke the elephant’s back, or however that dumb saying goes. He doesn’t even know anymore. Lance just knows that he has had enough of the absurdly loud music and the smell of alcohol and the sight of people dancing like maniacs. He is just not in the mood for it tonight. His day was lame enough as it is, he definitely didn’t need his night to be any similar.

Plus, partying at home sucks, because it means there’s always the potential to see people he went to high school with, that only remember him being gangly and having braces, coupled with the near-guarantee that it’s gonna get busted by cops before 1am. That is a stress Lance doesn’t need in his life. If his mom ever saw that he got in trouble for underage drinking she would... do something Lance would rather not think about. He’d like to someday get to the legal drinking age, thank you very much. 

And, even if the party doesn’t get busted while Lance is there, there’s also the fact that he refuses to get any kind of intoxicated while he’s back home. Again, these are people from high school, who already have seen Lance do too much embarrassing shit. They don’t need to see Drunk Lance, because that’s a whole other kind of embarrassing. 

And also again, there’s his mom he has to think about. She can’t see him drunk, not when he’s 20, not when he’s 25, not ever. He’s the baby, so there’s a certain image he should uphold, and that image requires he never disrespect his mother and her lovely home by showing up in any condition other than completely sober. As far as she knows, Lance conducts himself at school the same way he conducts himself at home, so. He can’t give her any reason to question his status as an absolute angel. 

That’s not even the most annoying part of tonight, no. The most annoying part is that Lance’s cousin Adrian knows all this, and still dragged him here, all because he needs a ride home, like Uber doesn’t exist all of a sudden. Like Lance doesn’t have 4 other siblings or a whole bunch of other cousins Adrian could call at 3 in the morning. 

But of course, in the end, it was Lance’s dumb ass that set this whole disaster into motion by agreeing to come, however reluctantly, in the first place. He put himself in this mess, and the only way he can see himself getting out is by hiding in the first-floor bathroom. Just him and a piss-covered toilet seat. 

What a night. 

Luckily, the bathroom has a fairly spacious counter with just enough room to accommodate Lance’s skinny butt, and better still is the presence of an outlet that’s the perfect distance to allow him to charge his phone and still be able to use in a comfortable position. He’s honestly set for the night. It’s not like anyone here is sober enough to notice him being in the bathroom for an hour or two. Maybe Adrian will puke soon so Lance can declare him ready to leave. 

Lance himself has been ready to leave, and he’s not just talking about the party. Being home is a lot more boring than he anticipated, but maybe that’s just because Lance is very spoiled by the exciting city life his college provides him. There’s always stuff to do over there. 

Here, well: there’s this to do and not much else. He feels kind of selfish being so bored all the time because his friends and family aren’t around to “entertain” him constantly, but also there is only so much housework he can do and PS4 he can play for three straight weeks. That was why his dumb ass decided agreeing to come here would be a remotely good idea. 

Lance heaves a sigh that’s weighed down with issues he hasn’t even had yet, knocking the back of his head against the mirror with a thump and an “Ow.” He twists his neck to take a look at himself. 

“Yikes. Is that really it?” he says to himself while shifting his whole body around so both knees are on the counter and he’s nose-to-nose with his own reflection. Every hair, pore, and freckle on Lance’s face is put on obsessive display, the likes of which haven’t been seen since high school. He’s taking a good long look at the blackheads along his forehead that definitely need extracting, and the stray brow hairs close to his eyelid. Maybe he should grow them back out a bit...

He leans back to get a look at his whole face. It looks a lot better without the intense magnification from the mirror. High cheekbones, straight nose, blue eyes—from this distance, the amalgamation of his features is actually kind of pleasant, but maybe that’s thanks to the soft lights that surround the mirror. A solid 7/10 if you ask him, and if he makes weird faces he drops down to a strong 6.5, which isn’t too bad. Plus, his baby pink shirt really pops against his skin and makes his eyes stand out. It’s a look.

In fact, Lance decides now is a good time as any to take some selfies. His Snapchat friends must miss him, as well as his Instagram and Twitter followers. He needs to make sure they remember him being as handsome as always. 

It’s halfway through his sixth attempt at a puppy-filter pic that the bathroom door whooshes open wider than Lance’s mouth trying to prompt the puppy tongue onto the screen. Right when Lance screeches in surprised terror, he takes the picture. 

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t know it was occupied,” says the person who threw the door open, his hands rushing to cover his eyes quicker than Lance would run from his mom’s chancla. 

The good thing is, aside from vaguely humiliating selfie poses, there’s nothing to see here. This is the one time Lance has been walked in on in the bathroom when he’s not actually going to the bathroom, so if anything, it’s quite the step up from other incidents.  And yes, incidents as in multiple, because for some reason Lance can never truly pee in peace—or do anything in peace really, because he’s been walked in on in dressing rooms and his bedroom both here at home and back at school. The summer before his senior year of high school was so bad, that it got the point where he stopped trying to cover up whatever was exposed if it happened. He’d never given so many random stranger dead looks with his ass out in such a short period of time before.

But as he said, this is a step up, because his ass isn’t out. Also, even with his face covered, Lance can’t take his eyes off this invader of privacy. His spidey senses are telling him that he must be cute. He’s tall enough to fill most of the doorframe, and broad enough too, with his body looking right in dark jeans and a snug gray T-shirt. Lance takes a brief moment to appreciate the near-pristine condition of this guy’s shoes, because he knows what he’s about in this life and he can absolutely appreciate anyone who is also about it.  

“Ah, it’s fine,” Lance tells him. He sets his phone on the counter. “I wasn’t busy, if you need to use the bathroom.”

“Are you... decent?” he asks, but opening his fingers to peek through anyway. In a weird way, it’s kind of cute? Lance tends to find a lot of weird things cute, though. 

“Yeah! Yeah, I was just hiding and trying to take pictures.” Lance smiles sheepishly at the mirror where he knows the other guy is looking at him. 

He watches. very interested, as his hands leave his face to reveal something much, much better than whatever Chad-like countenance he was already imagining. Like, for one, he has these kind, soft eyes, and an impressive jawline that probably can and has cut glass before. His eyebrows are great, to put it simply, and even the broad pink scar across his nose can’t detract from the absolute artistry that is the rest of his face. If anything, the ruggedness of it just adds to the whole affair. 

Lance had no clue there were people like this at parties back home, because if he did he would’ve agreed to a lot more of Adrian’s stupid plans. 

“You were hiding?” He raises his eyebrows. 

Ugh, oh no, this guy is probably realizing that Lance is a giant loser who goes to social functions just to run away within the first 20 minutes. He’s probably the type to be the absolute life of the party, always surrounded by a throng of people cheering his name, always the one to keep the night going no matter how dead everyone thinks it’s gonna get. Now that he thinks about it, Lance might vaguely recall seeing those black and white sneakers in the air earlier while their owner was doing a keg stand...

“...Would you mind terribly if I joined you?” 

“Uh...” That was not the follow-up he was expecting. 

“It’s just! I’m not a huge fan of parties,” the guy admits, offering a half-smile and a shrug. “I just offered to be my friends’ DD.”

Lance perks up. Well then. Of course he wouldn’t mind. 

“Oh, dude, it’s totally fine! I’m here for the same reason,” he says. 

“Thank you so much. I’m Shiro, by the way.” 

He fully enters the bathroom and makes his way over to the toilet, and at the same time that Lance is yelling “NO, WAIT,” Shiro practically jumps back when he catches sight of the toilet seat and says, “Oh, God.” 

“Yeah,” Lance agrees, grimacing at the seat, “That’s why I’m up here.” 

“Hm. Okay.” Shiro snatches some toilet paper off the roll with enough ferocity to send it spinning, then wads it up and tosses it on the seat. Miraculously, it doesn’t land in the water like it would’ve if Lance tried the same thing. Shiro then puts his clean-sneakered foot on the wad and maneuvers it around to clean off the pee. 

That would’ve been a good idea for Lance, were it not for his aversion to strange toilets. 

“That should be good,” Shiro says when he’s reached a rather satisfactory level of cleanliness to the toilet seat. He pushes the toilet paper into the bowl and then flips the lid down with a big loud thunk. 

Huh. That actually would’ve just solved the whole problem from the beginning, huh? Well, it’s a good thing Shiro was smart enough to do it when Lance wasn’t, but then again if he was just going to put the lid down there wasn’t any reason the even clean the seat... 

Whatever. No more questioning it. Something tells Lance that he isn’t the only one aware of the inefficiency of the situation anyway. 

Shiro sits down like a man who has never known rest. His forearms rest on his knees and he lets his chin fall to his chest, staying in that position just long enough that Lance isn’t sure he’s just witnessed the too-soon death of a local up-and-coming model or if Shiro just decided to take an impromptu nap. Sometimes parties be like that, but Shiro was conducting himself in a scarily coherent manner to be any kind of drunk and he’s designated driver, so. Maybe he’s dead then. 

“Man, I do not want to be here.” 

Oh, nevermind.

“I feel that,” Lance murmurs. 

He’s turned away from the mirror at this point, butt back on the counter and legs swinging off it, so he and Shiro can both stare at the pictures of vintage fruit on the opposite wall. A pear, and some purple grapes, in cute gold frames that stand out rather nice against the olive paint. The fruit is definitely an odd choice for bathroom decor and really drives home the fact that this party is clearly being held at someone’s parents’ house while they’re out for the new year. But it’s kind of nice; definitely a welcome change from the bare-bones frat houses and Vanilla Bean Noel-scented apartments he’s been to at school. 

It actually reminds him a bit of the downstairs guest bathroom at home, except his mom went with a flower theme. It’s still a little weird, but ambiguous enough to work, in his opinion. Maybe he’s just biased. 

“Grapes,” he hears Shiro say, and when he tilts his head in an amused way to catch his eye, Shiro seems to realize he’s said it out loud, and not in his head. “Ah, sorry.” 

“I was just thinking the same thing,” Lance says around a laugh, “It’s kind of funny. You think people ever get hungry while they’re peeing?” 

Shiro’s laugh brightens up his whole face, and if Lance wasn’t an idiot he’d look away like you’re supposed to when the sun is out. He’s kind of proud of himself. 

“That’s possible.” Shiro shrugs, still smiling. “I think it’s supposed to remind you to bring shower snacks. Except, oranges would be your best bet, in my opinion.” 

“Oranges? You eat oranges in the shower?” 

That’s not... a terrible idea, to be honest. Once, Lance had to shower in the morning before having his breakfast, and his near-starvation plus the heat of the water made him almost wanna pass out, which wouldn’t have been a good start to his day at all. Getting found butt-naked on the floor of his apartment bathroom? Absolutely not cool. Eating an orange or some other easily-consumed fruit to prevent this from ever happening? Very cool. 

Lance brings this up after Shiro admits to eating shower oranges, and then Shiro brings up his own story about the intense hunger that only bathing provokes. Or, stories, more like. He has multiple. It’s during this same topic that Lance learns Shiro also has a tendency to forego basic human needs in favor of working on whatever super important thing is demanding his attention at the time. He’s had to eat in the shower, nap in school bathrooms, and wash his face with cucumber water before because he just didn’t have the time to do it when you’re supposed to. That kind of haphazard behavior is terrifying and hilarious. Lance doesn’t know what he expected Shiro to say about himself, but it wasn’t quite that. 

Not like he has room to talk about any of those things, because Lance is the biggest mess of anyone he knows. He doesn’t even have to try, it just happens! Other people would be grateful to be as effortless at something. Forgetting to replace your notebooks after winter break and then having to walk around the first day with just a copy of the Howl’s Moving Castle DVD in your backpack is a talent. 

They’re laughing about the time Lance pulled an all-nighter and went to class without putting any pants on when his phone buzzes after reaching full battery. He unlocks it, and it opens right back up to Snapchat, the screen still frozen on the picture he took earlier. Lance’s face is blurred but the dog filter remains clear, and Shiro is in the doorway looking extremely surprised, almost like he’s about to scream. That’s honestly the same face Lance made the one time he walked in on his brother and his now-wife when she was just his girlfriend. He was what, 11? It was too soon to be seeing that kind of mess. 

“Shiro, look at this.” He turns the phone so Shiro can see the picture too.

He busts out laughing all over again, and Lance allows him to take the phone for a closer look. “Oh my gosh, I look so dumb,” he’s saying, his lips twisted to the side and his eyes scrunched up at the corners. “You look pretty good, though, all blurred out like that.”

Lance can’t resist lightly knocking the back of his hand on Shiro’s shoulder, absolutely no force behind it to accompany the fake-annoyed tone to his voice. “You’re so funny, wow.” 

He doesn’t even care that this is some middle-school ass flirting, although Lance was probably a lot better at it back then if the amount of Valentine he got every year was any indicator. That’s probably because he was actually cute in middle school, with chubby cheeks and plaid shirts buttoned all the way up. High school, as he said earlier, was when things just got awkward for him. 

Shiro probably never had such a phase, but Lance likes to imagine him at some point having hair that was buzzed a little too short, or maybe shirts with sleeves that didn’t quite cover his wrists or pants that stopped right above the ankles. Maybe he filled out before he grew upwards and walked around looking like a Lego man for a bit—the possibilities are endless. 

When you’re young, there are so many ways you can look dumb, but Shiro hasn’t shown signs of any of them. He isn’t rubbing his eyes the way contact lens-wearers do after years of suffering through ugly rectangular glasses or avoiding all contact with his face like someone who’s been hashtag through it with acne. He is, however, exceptionally eager to smile, so Lance has hope that somewhere out there exists photographic evidence of Shiro with a tin grin in his younger years, the benefits of which he is now sure to reap. Lance knows that for the rest of 11th grade, when he got his off, his lips probably came over his newly-straightened teeth maybe 2 times, and in the years since he’s never been serious in a picture. The life of someone with a beautiful smile is truly blessed, and Shiro should know. His smile could blind people. 

Shiro looks down at Lance’s hand on his shoulder, his gaze traveling along his arm until it settles over his face. His head is tilted, his smile cheeky. 

“I’ve been told I got jokes,” he says, and the words float between them. 

Lance has to snort. He has to. He even clicks his tongue for good, incredulous measure. “There’s no way. You can’t be hot and funny.”

Shiro’s eyebrows shoot way up into his forehead to get acquainted with his hairline. He gives a low, short whistle. “You think I’m hot?”

The way he says it, that amused, cocky sort of way, is probably meant to tease Lance and maybe embarrass him just a little bit, but the joke is on him. Lance is shameless, and completely desensitized to whatever normal people would consider humiliating. That’s why Lance holds eye contact and gives his own a eyebrows a little suggestive waggle. 

“Oh, obviously. Don’t act like that, you knew what you were doing when you picked out that shirt to wear.” 

For good measure, he uses his thumb and forefinger to pinch a little fabric and pull it slightly so his point is really driven home. The gray is very flattering on the cream color of Shiro’s skin, and it stretches perfectly across his chest and shoulders. Shirts that fit this way are never chosen by coincidence. Shiro was very deliberate in this very attractive form of presenting himself tonight. 

“Well, I knew that I only had two clean shirts with no holes in them to pick from, and I wasn’t feeling orange tonight.” Shiro, in an unexpected move, brings up his left hand to pat the one Lance still has on his chest. It lingers. “Also, I have to admit I’m quite flattered. It’s always nice to be acknowledged like that by someone who’s handsome himself.” 

Um! Okay? Lance wants to tell Shiro to shut up because there is no way he’s saying things like that with a straight face. Handsome? Really? What a stupid word, what a dumb fucking word to use, when there are ones like cute and hot available. Lance is used to hearing those, so they don’t make his cheeks flare up or his ears get hot. Those are college student words, dating app words, Instagram comment words. Handsome is like... what his mom would say, or what Facebook comments say, or what romcom protagonists say. Not random guys who walk in on you in the downstairs bathroom. 

“You’re so...” So what? Lance doesn’t have a clue how he was gonna end that statement, so he lets it hang in the air. 

Shiro presses his lips together, suddenly looking self-conscious. “Sorry. Maybe that was too much.”

“No!” Lance barks, startling the both of them. He recovers: “No, it really wasn’t. I guess I was just surprised. I didn’t think you’d say that, is all.”

“I was just being truthful,” Shiro says, quietly but not shyly. “And the fact that you’re absolutely amazing to talk to just adds to it.”

There’s nothing clever or cocky Lance can think of saying to that, so he’s just left with the option of a simple thank you. He can’t exactly pinpoint what it is about that statement that makes him feel like he could successfully hurdle over the moon. It’s kind of like Shiro said, about comments like that feeling especially flattering when you know that person more than fulfills the criteria on their own, but it’s not just an ego boost.

If anything, it feels kind of... meaningful. Most of their conversation tonight has felt meaningful, honestly, even if they didn’t talk about anything particularly deep or fascinating. Shiro, Lance supposes, just has this way of making him, and possibly anyone else who he encounters, feel like they’re the most important person in the world. His eyes were always attentive, and he’d make these little sounds of affirmation during particularly long stories just to let Lance know he was invested. He knows the right times to laugh, or to gasp, or to say “Ugh.” It was so nice, and Lance doesn’t even think he’s just saying that from a place of being a starving extrovert. 

But... yeah. Shiro himself is really nice to talk to, and he’s just said the same thing about Lance completely unprompted? And really, truly seemed like he meant it? That’s what’s meaningful about it. That’s what makes Lance really happy to hear that, instead of the usual “You talk a lot” or “You always have something to say huh?” that he is more used to getting. People don’t usually mean it like that, or at least Lance hopes they don’t, but he usually does have something to say about anything. He can’t help it, not when his brain is constantly going a mile a minute and heading in 16 different directions that all have something to do with whatever they’re talking about. Sometimes he can’t pick, or can’t wait either, and says as much as he can as quickly as he wants to before even realizing he’s opened his big old mouth. He knows what he’s like.

He knows what he’s like, and Shiro knows what he’s like, but the way Shiro talks about it makes it seem like something you could get an award for. A nice big plaque like the ones he got for track, except instead of Most Improved this one would say Most Fun to Talk To. He’d display that one on his wall with pride. 

And that pride, or whatever chest feeling that Shiro just gave Lance, Lance has always wanted to instill in someone else. He could only dream of making someone so happy with such a simple and lighthearted statement. He’s eager to learn what the secret is for making it so easy, and he’s especially eager to learn from Shiro himself how to get it done. Hopefully it isn’t some inherent quality, hopefully, it can be taught. Is it the eyes? The voice? The soft smiles every so often? Does Shiro smile at everyone like that when he’s out here paying heartfelt compliments or is Lance dumb for feeling like he’s kind of special? 

He hopes not. He really hopes not. 

“H-hey... Thanks, Shiro. That’s... really nice of you to say,” Lance manages, the words squeezed out of his throat. 

So he’s getting a little choked up, what of it? What of it? There’s no need to inform Lance of the unconventionally romantic situation he’s in: posted up in some stranger’s bathroom, pee on the toilet seat, fruit on the wall, grimy rap music playing outside. Whenever Lance imagined himself falling in love, he didn’t think it would be like this—and yes he said falling in love! That might very well perhaps almost possibly be what this is and anyone who feels the need to burst his bubble can mind their own business. In addition to being extremely talkative and just the slightest bit vain, Lance is what most people would call a hopeless romantic and he is not ashamed to admit it. There is nothing wrong with loving love in any conceivable capacity. 

Besides, it’s not like Lance is one of those people who goes around proposing to whoever shows him even a speck of attention for more than five minutes. His standards are much higher than that, so he requires at least ten—and guess what? He and Shiro have been hiding out and talking upwards of an hour, and that’s at least 60 minutes, okay? So Lance’s expectations have been exceeded by like, 60%. 

Shiro’s fingers squeeze close ever so slightly around Lance’s hand, before they’re finally retracting both their hands to their own personal space, and the brief warmth of Shiro’s skin on his is already missed. “Of course. I’m really glad I met you, you managed to make what would’ve been a miserable night into something really nice.” 

The bathroom lighting is nice, but even Lance knows it’s not that nice, not enough to cast that angelic glow on Shiro’s soft expression, to catch so beautifully in his cool white hair, or to bounce off his sky-high cheekbones. That’s something divine at work.

“Likewise,” he says, a little breathless, “One person hiding in a bathroom is lame, but two is hanging out, so. Thank you for hanging out with me.” 

The light wash of pink that bleeds over Shiro’s face then is something Lance just might be simultaneously proud and fearful of. Proud, because he did that, and fearful, because it’s almost too much. Shiro is too beautiful, all of a sudden. 

He wants nothing more than to commemorate this moment forever. Without tearing his eyes away from Shiro—because it’s actually impossible, seriously—he feels around for his phone on the counter, knocking it into the sink with a clatter but then scooping it back out quickly, before he accidentally turns the water on. 

He opens up Snapchat. “Let’s take a picture?” 

“Of course.”

There’s not really an ideal angle that would get them both in the frame while they’re sitting down, so instead, Lance and Shiro opt to stand in front of the mirror and use the back camera. This way, they get their whole bodies in, and Lance immediately decides to put his foot on the counter and rest his arm on his knee, free hand thrown into a peace sign. It’s a default pose for him. When Shiro replicates it using the opposite hand and foot, Lance has to laugh. It makes for a cute picture, especially once he’s done adding little cute stickers all over it. 

He shows Shiro, and he agrees that it’s quite cute and would Lance please send it to him so he can save it, which. Is great to hear. It’s a perfect opportunity, because in order to send it Lance would need to have Shiro on Snapchat, meaning that Shiro would have to add him, meaning that it’s guaranteed he will have a way to talk to Shiro after tonight. 

This won’t have to be a one-time thing. It won’t have to end when his cousin, or Shiro’s friends, finally puke enough to wanna go home and be taken care of, and it won’t have to mean that Lance will keep coming to terrible parties hoping for the off-chance that Shiro will also be there. 

If anything, it could mean that he’ll get to see Shiro in every shape and form—maybe when he’s half asleep first thing in the morning, or bored in class, or just relaxing at home. Shiro will be able to see him too and even see his siblings, his niece and nephew being adorable, his dog being dumb. Lance wants him to see all that, and wants to see whatever other aspects of Shiro’s life he’d offer in return. And who knows? If life treats him right, then someday those things won’t be confined to just temporary pictures—he’ll be able to see it all in person. 

He’d really like that. Love that, even. Hopefully Shiro feels the same. 

“There,” Lance says once they’ve become friends. “Now you’ll be able to see all the stupid stuff I do on the daily. I promise my stories weren’t exaggerated.”

“I’m very excited,” Shiro says. “I hope you won’t mind videos of my pets, then.”

“No, please send me as many videos of them as possible. Documentaries, if you would be so kind. I wanna know what they’re up to every second of every day.” 

Around a laugh, Shiro agrees to do just that. When Lance also, shamelessly, asks for unlimited selfie privileges, he agrees to that too, and it’s the best thing he’s heard all night. He can’t wait. 

And later, about half an hour or so, after his cousin finally yaks and Lance has dumped him in his bed with a tall glass of water and some ibuprofen and then crashed into his own, his phone buzzes with a Snapchat notification. He checks it, and can’t resist a smile. 

Shiro couldn’t seem to wait, either. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> thank you if you made it this far,, happy new year every1 i hope 2019 is good to us and good to shance C:


End file.
